


It Could Be Sweet

by LusidDreamer



Series: Loki and Fandral [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Bath Sex, Felching, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Rimming, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-16 05:40:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13047639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LusidDreamer/pseuds/LusidDreamer
Summary: A clandestine affair has unfolded between a prince and a member of the highest ranking guard that, if discovered, could destroy the reputation of both. One fears this eventuality above all else, while the other is only spurred on by the excitement the possibility brings... but could there be more to this illicit liaison?





	It Could Be Sweet

  **T** he crisp, morning light of the sun filtered through stars that hung closely to Asgard’s horizon like a jewelled canopy; at this early hour, from whence the endless dark velvet of the galaxy exploded into colour, the golden structures that proudly punctuated the realm’s skyline would soon be bathed in prismatic stained-glass patterns, a sight that only the most devoted warriors dragged themselves from home and hearth (or favoured drinking spot) to see.

At such an hour in midsummer did the sound of clashing steel pierce the waning night’s peaceful silence, amid yells and grunts of effort. The noise came from the palace training grounds, where only the most talented of young swordsmen went after their schooling to prepare themselves for war. Such was the way of Asgard, the realm built upon conquest, whose people now trained tirelessly to repel invaders upon themselves, or upon their neighbouring territories.

To one of Asgard’s princes, who bellowed in victory as he notched a sparring partner’s blade with one mighty swing of an axe, this was in his blood; it was tradition, it was destiny, it was the very essence of being Asgardian. To another, whose agile and cunning movements had sent his fourth - and largest - foe stumbling into a heap, this pomp and machismo had grown rather tiresome of late. It was this prince who, upon deftly twirling his daggers and sheathing them both, grabbed a polearm from a fellow trainee and used it to propel himself feet-first into the opponent his brother had failed to properly disarm. The move placed him immediately in front of said brother, who gawped at him angrily.

“That’s another one for me, brother,” said the ebon-haired prince, a sharp grin blossoming where it had been stony with concentration. When his fair-haired brother cursed him for his trickery, to which he merely laughed in response, the two began tussling with all the dignity of toddlers over a sweet treat rather than the refined young warriors they ought to be. The smaller prince yelped at the sudden aggression, expected though it was from his high-testosterone brother, yet managed to overbalance him as he’d attempted to tackle him to the dusty ground. A victorious, if a little bewildered, laugh was about to burst forth from the slighter of the two brothers when suddenly he was cut off, causing them both to shoot a startled glance towards the disturbance.

“Now now, young Loki,” came a voice from above the heap that was Loki and Thor Odinson. It didn’t matter that one couldn’t quite see the voice’s owner while silhouetted against the sun’s light, for his amusement was apparent in the velvety, musical lilt it held. The two brothers, shielding their eyes, scrambled to their feet. 

“If _someone_ had kept his temper, I was soon to express my most sincere remorse-”

“-As though one single word of sincerity has ever passed thy lips, brother!”

“-And besides, in a real fight, notching a sword won’t stop them from taking you down while you’re too busy bellowing like a troll-”

“-Come now, your highnesses,” chuckled their mentor, leather-clad fingers toying amusedly with his goatee. If only these two could see how good a team they truly made, rather than using their talents to try and one-up each other… but that hope was best left to a simpler time when they were but boys - best of friends, in fact - their loyalty toward one another not weathered by the competitive urge to please their father. Now that they were men, the matter of who would one day inherit the crown seemed prevalent in both their hearts.

As a member of the royal guard and Warriors Three, who practically raised these two boys, Fandral had observed the change in dynamic very closely; but no stronger personal transition had there been than that undergone by Loki, who by all accounts was certainly no longer the shy and effeminate boy of his childhood.

No… he’d known by the prince’s coming of age that he was a dark horse, that beneath the unassuming and delicate exterior was a fierce ambition and a penchant for breaking the rules. In fact, he’d needed not observe this from the sidelines at all, for Loki had quite recently proven to Fandral his fiery and rebellious spirit…

While Thor shrugged and hefted his axe over his shoulder, sauntering away to give audience to the formidable Sif, Fandral cast his glance back to find emerald eyes regarding him, glinting curiously.

“I know not what manner of thoughts course through that mind of yours, Loki,” he stated assuredly, though his teeth worried the inside of his lip. The prince only smiled as he leaned against his staff, which incidentally saw him lessen the distance between them. The sparring around them gradually waned until only a few trainees remained under the watch of Fandral’s companions, Volstagg and Hogun, while the rest - including Thor and Sif - said their farewells and departed to bathe, then no doubt have a celebratory drink.

 Still Loki smiled in that uniquely appealing way of his, lips a perfect crescent against skin so pale it was almost ashen.

“I have reason to believe you know _perfectly well_ ,” he murmured quietly, having leaned closer again. Drawing himself elegantly up, he made towards the ring's exit, but not before trailing his elegant fingers subtly from Fandral’s hip to the tight lacing of his breeches, beneath which the warrior already ached for that which was so forbidden.

There he was left with only the ghost of Loki’s retreating laughter to keep him rooted to the spot - but not overlong. It was a game Fandral was growing all too accustomed to, and he knew already that there was little hope of him opting out, even if he desired to.

 

* * *

 

Steam billowed from the outdoor springs, where young warriors would come to rinse away their toil. The heat here was dense enough that even the balmy breeze of summer would be an invigorating chill to truly awaken one’s senses. Though not arranged into anything as rigid as cubicles, there were areas vaguely shielded by the natural rocky formations to allow one some privacy, should they desire it.

Most, including Asgard’s favoured prince, had opted first to visit the volcanic hot spring to ease their battle-tense muscles; by the time Fandral arrived, Thor - along with his many boisterous friends - clapped him on the shoulder as they filed out, thanking him for the morning’s training session. Fandral smiled and congratulated their good work, though his manner was distinctly absent. Nobody seemed to pay heed, or at least, so he hoped.

He’d already dropped his armour in the barracks and was now reduced to his undershirt, breeches and bare feet. It was uncharacteristically tense for Fandral this day, exposing his body, but earnestly though he tried to pay it no mind, the drumming of his heart heralded the anticipation sparked by a brief but telling exchange he’d had with the prince only a half hour or so prior.

From it, he knew he _would_ be found, but knew not _when_.

There was a subtle ripple of energy to the atmosphere as he quickly surveyed the area for any others, a shiver down his bare back that justified him in the creeping sense that although nobody seemed to be around, he was aught but alone - and if that familiar magical signature told him anything, it was that he never truly had been. It was but a fraction of a second after the disturbance that Fandral, neutral of expression, finally descended rough-hewn steps and into a steaming spring that was nestled cosily within wide boughs of rock. The water reached just past his ribs as he reclined, and it immediately saw his posture relax as it worked it’s healing heat deep within his worked muscles. Even then his eyes, blue as the day that blossomed just visibly through the thick fog, remained fixed on the pool’s edge for several pregnant moments.

What had begun as excitement in the adrenalin-pumped aftermath of the morning’s training had settled into the usual blend of trepidation and guilt that seemed to weigh ever more heavily in his stomach each time Loki accosted him like this. It left an ill feeling in his chest whenever the reality of the situation hit him - the reality that, while he professed ultimate loyalty to the throne, he was committing the grave dishonour of screwing the youngest prince in secret…  

So many times since the start of their affair had Fandral battled internally with himself, resolving on multiple occasions to cut contact, but like prey in his web did Loki ever seem to ensnare him with beautiful words and furtive glances, beckoning him into the shadows where none could see… only it was Fandral who devoured of his captor, in every instance that saw his will crumble as he blundered mindlessly into the trap. It even seemed that Loki took mocking pleasure in seeing the inevitable fall, which only heightened his shame, for it grew harder and harder yet to raise himself each time.

Fandral sighed, surrendering vigilance to his need to unwind. Only once he lay back did a ripple disturb the water’s steamy surface, going unnoticed even as the presence causing it waded towards the reclining form.

A ghost of a breath across the warrior’s moisture-speckled skin drew from him a shuddering sigh, relief present in the soft and drawn-out groan that clinched it. Loki’s whim must have been merciful on this occasion, as opposed to the times he’d signalled his playful intent then gone on to have Fandral looking over his shoulder for the best part of a day. He could feel long hands on his chest now, and as open-mouthed kisses laced their way up the extended column of his throat Fandral made no sign of making any advances himself - though his resolve certainly took the beating he almost welcomed by this point. Arms spread across the stone on either side, he was content enough to allow the attention to continue in this tantalising manner, his arousal rising rapidly with the added danger of being so _in the open_.

“Loki,” he purred reverently, for this could only be his prince’s lithe form pressing against him closer and closer yet, and no measure of chastising could detract from the simple truth: that despite its wrongness, Fandral loved every moment of their sordid trysts.

“Wrong,” a low voice corrected silkily, much too distant to belong to the entity lavishing sweet intimacies upon his flesh. Fandral’s head snapped up to meet a mere shade of Loki occupying the space before him, smirking as lurid green magic frayed at its edges before dissolving entirely on the billowing air. Through the steam he couldn’t easily make out the owner of the softly mocking laughter that danced through the laden air, at least not until pale feet eventually slid into the spring where he himself had entered some time prior. Fandral was wordless, ensnared by the stark nude body as it vanished beneath the water’s surface while slowly approaching.

It was clear Loki knew exactly the power he held in the divine sculpt of his form; languid, feline movements accentuated the willowy length of his limbs, his hips swaying in a hypnotic rhythm to render any honourable man his slave. Frighteningly so, it seemed that each time Fandral beheld him in such intimate circumstances his sheer radiance irrevocably chipped at his constitution, leaving every nerve exposed, raw and screaming for him. A point had long since been reached that nowadays, whenever he saw that slyly handsome face and elegant figure, fantasies of taking the seductive prince where he stood plagued him, unbidden and impossible to banish - the prey, trapped and squirming in the spider’s clutches, only to turn into the hungering beast itself.

It was with these fevered inklings of lust in mind that Fandral reached out the moment Loki was within range, hands immediately finding purchase on his soft yet slender hips. From there he pulled him close, hungrily mouthing his trim stomach and delicate ribs.

“You, my prince, are terrible,” said Fandral, already husky of voice, to which Loki laughed and draped his arms around the warrior’s broad, dripping shoulders.

“Oh, good… I do try, you know?” replied he, eyes bright as bewitching emeralds.

Goosebumps had flourished across Loki’s flesh from Fandral’s tender kisses and squeezes, causing his nipples to stand more prominently on his chest. With a scheming grin of his own, he pulled Loki down into a straddle atop his lap, which put his lips at perfect level to ghost over the erect, petal pink flesh. To Fandral’s relish, a tangible shiver shot down Loki’s spine, a truly delicious reaction that prompted him to pay them further attention - this time with the addition of his tongue, which he used to trace slow circles that worked the responsive skin even harder and redder yet. He could sense in the tension of Loki’s forearms that he was clutching the rocky wall of the pool in a bid to maintain composure, though it did little to prevent the more obvious signs such as the furious flush painted across usually pallid cheeks, or the fact he arched into the touch. As Fandral kissed a hot, wet path towards Loki’s other nipple, his hand settled between delicate shoulder blades whereby he could hold him securely in place. Glancing upwards as he repeated the same teasing ministration, it pleased him to no end to catch a glimpse of Loki releasing his lip from between his teeth to let out a shuddering sigh. Now _this_ was worth any degree of shame and dishonour.

“By the Gods, aren’t you just _beautiful_?” Fandral murmured, his hands greedily testing and squeezing Loki until they reached his front; they glided up his slender waist and rib cage before massaging his chest and further stimulating his nipples with gentle pinches and twists. Before long the typically cool and composed prince was whimpering sweetly for him, between every other moan a slurred cry of Fandral’s name. “Hush, naughty prince,” he said, roughly seizing Loki’s plush backside to cease his leisurely grinding. They were both rock hard, so this fevered frotting could easily prove too quick an ending to this wonderfully unfolding scene. Fandral couldn’t have that - not if he was to truly turn the tide on his covert lover.

As though sensing that Fandral didn’t intend to play entirely his way just yet, Loki pouted and caught his mouth in a long-awaited kiss, his tongue softly yielding as it was returned with dominant fervour. When they parted, it wasn’t the steam that seemed to hang even heavier betwixt them.

“I… I can’t help it. I’ve been desperate for you,” blurted Loki, a peculiar hint of vulnerability apparent as he embraced Fandral tighter. “Is that wrong?”

Fandral’s eyes widened. Could it be that Loki’s seeming sexual confidence was a front for something else? His more reasonable mind screamed that if something was changing between them, it was too dark and spiralling to ever escape from, but the aching swell in his chest all but smothered it dead. This certainly was different from the Loki who only appeared to be toying with him, who seemed to _want_ to be caught just for the fun of ruining his reputation.

Saying nothing, Fandral cupped that lovely face within his hands before kissing him again; now though, rather than ravaging Loki’s mouth, he took the time to really explore him, to register what exact flicks of the tongue and passionate bites would make him melt the most.

And oh how _gorgeously_ he purred.

This was dangerous. How could he not have considered the effect he might have on Loki the night that he all but begged him to take his virginity? Fandral would have cursed his libido’s hold over him, but frustration was overcome by the dull flame of his own growing affection, and subsequently the fretfulness of the trouble that this unspoken - but mutually clear - development heralded. Then, even fear was pushed aside as Loki softly spoke his name in the intimate space that was all their own, and with an adoring exhale of his own he curled his arms tight around Loki’s middle, forehead pressed into his chest. Fandral could both hear the heart beating rapidly in his ribs.

“Nay, my prince,” he conceded, for he knew that growing to know Loki’s flesh so intimately had felt nothing _but_ right all along. Regardless of what may become of their affair, that much could not be denied - at least, not while his heart and his desire wreaked sweet destruction upon any semblance of caution he held.

Cradling Loki, he reversed their positions, the motion made easier by the water, until he was looking down at the Loki’s captivatingly demure expression. Lips found throat, surrendered willingly by Loki who sighed encouragingly with every burning symbol of affection left there, their arousal not left neglected as the two found themselves pressing and pulling one another closer, both needing their impending union as verily as the needed air to breathe. Loki’s nature was yielding this day, thus it was by Fandral’s own choice that they only gradually edged closer and closer to a complete merging of bodies; he wanted to see the prince unravel completely for him with his senses intact, and so it was with languid passion that he marked porcelain skin pink or purple dependant on how loud he wished to hear the prince whimper his name.

At the point where Loki’s coherence had long since been dragged from him, his lips and nipples were all red and swollen, his neck a spotted canvas of dark blooms and his eyes glazed and dumbly imploring Fandral to claim him completely. It was without the usual triumphant smirk that the warrior again crooked his fingers that had been languidly working inside of Loki, applying the massaging pressure to that most sensitive spot that made him cry out. So addictive was it to behold that Fandral wished he never had to stop administering this sweet torture; he knew not how many times Loki had nearly reached climax since he put himself at his mercy - perhaps he had already done so - but never was he asked to stop. Finally he positioned himself, circling the head of his cock around the rim of the stretched hole as he gingerly withdrew his fingers, and it seemed that each hot, aching inch that entered Loki had him quickly finding his silver tongue again.

“Oh _gods_ ,” he spluttered, back arching off stone with his hips held firmly in place by a lust-wild Fandral, who could only groan affirmatively in reply, each retract and successive thrust burying him deeper yet within Loki’s maddeningly tight, squirming body, “ _oh, Fandral; oh, please; make me yours; please;_ **_please_ ** _, my lo-_ ” a guttural moan saw Loki cutting himself off as Fandral’s groin pressed flush against him, his face frozen in a lustful trance that was beyond stunning to behold.

“Hush,” said Fandral raggedly, clasping a hand over Loki’s mouth. In spite of the wildfire igniting every nerve in his body, there still lingered the fear of discovery; their increasingly ardent play had become noisy, and though he was sure they were still alone a small and paranoid part of him was wary. Loki crooned softly into his palm, his long legs curling around Fandral’s strong waist; the warrior, in turn, gazed down at the sweetly obedient Loki that was all his for the taking, and held his quivering body close.

 

* * *

 

They screwed and sweated and sighed for one another; mouths tasted eagerly; hands intertwined, gripped hair, clutched at muscle and scratched stinging tracks across flesh. Loki was wanton and greedy - Fandral, a slave to his princes’ appetites as he filled him once, twice, in the mouth, up his quivering and bruised chest, only to be rinsed away by cleansing waters. After pounding Loki’s abused backside to the point he could see tear-tracks streaking down his cheeks, Fandral came with a strangled groan, then hoisted him up onto the rocky border of the pool and spread his blushing thighs. Though Loki struggled to support himself, he obliged, blushing, but soon found sitting upright an even greater challenge as Fandral lapped up the seed that so indecently oozed out of him. The degradation of having his used and gaping hole ravenously tongued was sinfully exquisite, and as he angled himself for even easier access he feverishly stroked his own aching cock until he came again with a choked cry. Fandral eventually slowed until he was merely lacing endless kisses upon Loki’s thighs, hips and soiled stomach, the prince stretching lazily as he carded through damp straw-gold hair with trembling fingers.

The air was different between them, and not in the same manner as before where it weighed hotly with unresolved tension; rather, this was a fuzzy aura of ease, which seemed particularly strange given the depths of depravity to which they’d sunk. Also hovering between them, obvious yet unvoiced, was the knowledge that either would, in this moment, do anything for the other.

Of course, it was Loki who, regaining his composure, smiled and tipped Fandral’s chin upwards, interrupting his kisses. It didn’t seem prudent to Loki to push this any further, for now. Truly, he was simply relieved that the lapse in his pride, which saw him saying things he thought himself incapable of, had only been met positively. In fact, he was positively _giddy_ \- but although he didn’t think it necessary to hide this fact, per se, the first inklings of humour since he’d first tricked Fandral with the clone twinkled in his verdant eyes.

“I knew you were a servant to the royal family, dear Fandral, but never to this degree.” To this the warrior raised a brow, tongue cheekily sweeping between his smiling lips.

“Do not _dare_ think what you are thinking, my prince.”

Loki laughed, and leaned down to capture Fandral’s mouth again in a passionate kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> I know it's been some time, but I've honestly been nursing this fic for... probably months, perhaps even a year. I'm glad to have finally finished it, and grateful to you for reading :) more installments of this relationship and how I see it panning out over the course of the canon should come as and when I'm feeling inspired <3


End file.
